


Red Rocket Reprieve

by CeruleanChillin



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Brotherhood of Steel (Fallout), F/M, Fluff, Implied Smut, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 05:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14513643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanChillin/pseuds/CeruleanChillin
Summary: Even Arthur needs a break from the BoS sometimes.Arthur Maxson x Female Reader (Sole Survivor)





	Red Rocket Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> AN: A quick thing because I’m rusty, and playing Fallout 4 atm.  
> It’s a rad filled shame that there aren’t more reader inserts out there for Fallout. Especially, with all the cool characters from FO4. I set out to write this from Arthur’s POV, and didn’t realize how him-centric it got until I was too far in. My bad.

The Prydwen was a marvel to behold. Arthur Maxson was willing to bet that those who’d been lucky enough to live before the war would even be impressed by it. (Technically he had proof of that, given that  _ you’d _ been quite impressed). However, as dedicated as he was to his job, and proud to serve on the magnificent vessel as he was, at times it felt like a chokehold. When he was on ground, it was easier to find time for a short reprieve, and there were more members higher in rank that the other members could report to.

In the air, it seemed like no matter the rank, he was the only one whose brain was firing on all cylinders at any given time. He was a childless man, but suddenly, he had a metal balloon full of them. The fact that he was younger than so many on board made this fact even more ridiculous.

The members of The Brotherhood of Steel could be a braggadocios bunch, stomping through the wastes of the country in their iconic Power Armor. However, the same bunch that swore they had the stones and ovaries to earn the use of said Power Armor, sure seemed to need Arthur Maxson’s constant attention for competency. Some days, he genuinely wondered if many of the members were on the verge of needing him to tell them when to breathe or piss.

He was a patient man, but he was a man nonetheless. Prior to meeting you, when he needed a break, he would sneak off into some ruins, and pick off raider groups or feral ghoul nests. He could say it was to protect the settlements that weren’t far from the threat, but it was mostly to clear his mind and keep him sharp. Manning the Prydwen didn’t exactly leave a lot of space or time for field action.

When he was back in the Capital Wasteland, he had the company of many women to lessen the stress of his duties. When he came to the Commonwealth he felt it would be highly unbecoming to parade women in and out of the Prydwen, so encounters of that nature dwindled. His duties didn’t leave time for him to mourn that fact, which was why when Danse had brought you before him, his instant attraction to you had been a shock. You were all curves and sly smiles in your customized vault suit. A  _ vault dweller _ getting high recommendation before him on the Prydwen? Imagine that!

You were a fascinating thing, having dwelled on the earth before, and now after the war. He had so many questions, but he didn’t want to break rank or character, so he only casually posed a few in between doling out missions. You got more comfortable around the ship and began spending more time there between duties. When Proctor Quinlan started to take up the precious time you spent onboard, probing about the past, he quickly ended that under the guise of wanting debriefings from you directly. After all, you were receiving sensitive information at a rapid pace.

You saw through that as quickly as he posed it. Not only were you fascinating, you were smart too. What he thought was naivety, due to being 200 years late to the new way of life, was in fact your preserved humanity. A different type than what was bred by post-war conditions.

“If you wanted alone time Maxson I wouldn’t have said no.” you’d teased hotly, slipping into  _ his  _ chair.

He’d chastised you about rank and respect, but there wasn’t an ounce of firmness behind it. Besides, you were alone, something he’d made sure of. He’d found out you were a lawyer in your past life, and he’d genuinely felt moved by your backstory. He’d understood where your seemingly rapid acceptance of Brotherhood ideals came from.

The next meeting was his turn to share with the class, but that was too far out of character, even with your ability to push his limits. Somehow you falling into his bed with, him not far behind, wasn’t.

He’d realized how similar you two were. You two shouldered worlds on your shoulders. You with the settlements and groups stretched across the Commonwealth, calling your name. Him with the Brotherhood of Steel looking to him to lead a great change in and for humanity. It didn’t take long to figure out that it was that you could take those worlds and leave them on the doormat when you were together, that made what you had addicting.

That addiction had him hiking across the Commonwealth, lips curled in disgust at some of the inhabitants, guns blazing for the ones who amounted to even less than they did. All so he could see his reprieve in the neon light of the Red Rocket again. The secluded spot you’d taken ownership of was the perfect place to close out the world for the short periods he’d allow himself.

He gripped the worn strap of his cammo duffle bag in anticipation when he saw the lights and the obnoxious giant rocket ship. As he crossed the hill, he could hear the soft sounds of a sad jazz song drifting out of the open garage. He’d nag you at some point about the openness of your current set up, but that’s not how he wanted to greet you.

He entered the garage, only to find it empty, and instantly went to the backroom next. He was shocked you hadn’t sensed him approaching, you always seemed to know when he was near, until he saw you curled up on your bed asleep. His face softened, and he finally allowed his muscles to relax, dropping the duffle by the counter.

He disrobed of his weapons and outer-clothing, before he kneeled on the bed beside your sleeping form. You didn’t move an inch, and he moved the lecture about leaving your space so open up on the mental note roster.

He scooped your warm form from sheets, his guilt at attempting to wake you assuaged by the fact that he planned to put you back to sleep in his own way. He pulled you into his form so that you straddled his lap, and you murmured something, but otherwise remained pliant as he slipped kisses along your throat. You giggled, and your hands came up around his neck. He drew back, surprised to find no trace of sleep in your eyes, and your movements too spry to have just roused from sleep. You’d been teasing him.

“Do I still get the “Commonwealth is not your house” speech?” You wrinkled your brows and deepened your voice in a mocking way, and he couldn’t help the wry grin that quirked his lips upwards.

“Teasing your lover and superior in one fell swoop. I don’t believe that should go unpunished.” He punctuated his statement with a hard slap, and then grasp of your ass. One that instantly silenced your teasing laughter, and made you squirm in want on his lap.

“You shouldn’t make me miss you so much.” You responded, and his lips returned to your throat at that. You were teasing, but he could hear some truth to the statement.

He would apologize for his appearances becoming rarer in the best way he knew how. He pushed you to the bed, hands pushing up the flimsy nightwear you wore. “You’ll have to forgive me for doing so again, though I’m sure you won’t mind.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking of something domestic fluffy for him, or possibly Hancock next. Just let me know.


End file.
